Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 What Can Brown Do for You?  - Part 1 (M/b, oral, ws, mild scat) by Coproman

   I guess it was inevitable that I would end up working for United Parcel
Service.  I've always admired those UPS uniforms because brown has always
been my favorite color.  Most of my clothes are brown, my apartment is
decorated in shades of brown, and I even prefer brown eggs.  But the brown
I like best of all is the kind that comes out of little boys' butts.

   That's right; I'm a pervert.  A scat freak and a pedophile.  I'm also
brown.  I'm a six-foot, dark-brown scat freak/pedophile who happens to live
in that internationally famous enclave of brown folks--Harlem, U.S.A.,
which is also where my delivery route happens to be.  I've managed to work
out my day whereby I alternate between dropping things off for others and
picking things up for myself, as I play toilet games with various shades of
brown-skinned kids.

   But Harlem is changing fast.  Today, as real estate developers
deconstruct and reconstruct the area in their aggressive gentrification,
Harlem has been getting lighter.  Take my route, for instance.  It used to
be all black folk, most of whom lived in tenements; now it's almost half
white, with most of the new residents living in spanking-new condos.

   I wouldn't mind the change so much if it weren't shrinking my sexual
base so rapidly.  Many of the boys I used to spend quality time with, boys
I'd carefully primed, have moved away; and while cute little white boys are
now answering the door in their place (and gradually getting to know me as
a friendly face) I was, for a long time, apprehensive about approaching any
of them because I'd never attempted to seduce a white kid before.  But I
quickly learned that boys will be boys, no matter what color they happen to
be, and the kid who taught me that valuable lesson hadn't even finished
third grade.

   His name was Parker, and I think I fell in love with him the very first
time I saw him.  Eight years old, he had a head full of red hair--which
covered the tops of his ears and fell in bangs across his forehead--along
with red eyebrows and eyelashes, which accented his bright blue eyes.  Then
there were the pouty red lips, the button nose, and that healthy splash of
freckles across his cheeks.  Elsewhere, though, his skin was amazingly pale
and so translucent in certain places, like his legs, that I could easily
see his blue veins underneath it.  Whenever I had a package to deliver to
his house, I always got so horny just thinking about seeing him that I had
to strategically reposition my hardening dick under the elastic band of my
briefs before getting out of the truck.

   Parker, his mother, and his four-year-old brother Connor (who was a mini
version of Parker) were one of the first families to move into the latest
newly renovated apartment building on my route.  A single white woman and
her two little boys.  People referred to them simply as "The Redheads," as
if that were their last name.  Actually their last name was "O'Shea," and
it seemed as if Ms.  O'Shea--Bridget--must have furnished her whole
apartment piece by piece through Internet orders because I found myself
returning to her place with deliveries so often that she, the boys and I
were soon on a first-name basis.

   It took me a while to figure out the family's routine, and I was
encouraged to see that it offered some possibilities.  It started when
Bridget explained to me that she had called UPS and made arrangements for
Parker to sign for whatever I delivered.  She felt he was mature enough to
do that and whatever else needed to be done around the house before she got
home from work.  This included picking up Connor from his preschool
program, walking home with him, and fixing the two of them something to
eat--all without the supervision of a babysitter.  She also mentioned how
she'd told him never to buzz anyone in except me, and when I heard that I
smiled to myself and thought how it was like telling the chickens to open
the door to the coop only when the wolf came around.

   So from about 3:15 until about 5:30, I figured, I could have Parker all
to myself, if things worked out.  Even if I had nothing to deliver, I could
still pretend that I did.  The main thing was to get inside that apartment
any way I could, so I could be with the eight-year-old.  And I fondly
recall the first time that happened.

   That day I did in fact have a delivery for the O'Sheas.  As I drove up
to and stopped in front of the apartment building, my heart was beating so
hard I thought it would come crashing through my chest.  Gathering
myself--and again making sure that my hard cock was secured in the
waistband of my underwear--I tucked the package under my arm and made my
way inside.  I rang the intercom and after several long, agonizing seconds,
Parker answered.

   "Who is it?"

   "It's Damon, Parker; I have a package for your mom."

   "Okay."

   Right away I heard the buzzer.  I pushed the lobby door open and headed
for the elevator.  On the way up I reviewed every step of my plan to lure
Parker into my sexual trap.  As soon as I got off the elevator I spotted
the cute eight-year-old standing in the open door of his apartment, and I
couldn't help smiling because, as if anticipating my arrival, he was
wearing a dark brown tee shirt, tan corduroy pants, and light brown house
slippers.

   "Hey, Park, how's it going?"

   "Okay."

   I sat the package on a table near the front door and began to enter the
information into the electronic signature box.

   "So how's Connor?" I asked, trying my best to make the question sound
like idle conversation.

   "He's sleeping.  He always takes a nap when we come home from school."

   "I guess preschool can tire a guy out," I chuckled, after which I handed
Parker the pen and held the signature box for him to sign.  He wrote slowly
in script, carefully forming the loops and swirls of the letters in his
first and last name.  It always turned out to be the most legible signature
I got.  When he handed the pen back to me, I thanked him and started out
the door but then stopped myself, turning back to face the boy again.

   "Park, do you mind if I use the bathroom?  I've been drinking a lot of
Evian [coincidentally, the same brand of bottled water his mom drank] and
I've really gotta go."

   "Sure," he said, and he pointed.  "It's over there."

   "Thanks," I said, dashing into the bathroom.  I really DID have to pee,
but instead of closing the door, I left it open.  Unzipping my brown
shorts, I took a deep breath and forced myself to think about my ugly boss
in order to get my super-hard dick to shrink enough for me to piss.  Once
it started, though, it came out easily...and noisily, hitting the water so
forcefully that I knew it would be clearly audible through the open door,
hopefully attracting Parker's curiosity.

   It did.  When I was about half-way done, I glanced over and was pleased
to see Parker standing right outside, to the side of the doorway, quietly
staring at me.  As I was finishing up, I slowly turned my head until I
caught his gaze.  Surprisingly he didn't duck away; instead he met my stare
with a smile, which compelled me to continue with my plan.

   "Come here," I said to him, as the last of my piss squirted into the
toilet.

   At first he hesitated, but after I said, "It's okay," he drifted over
until he was standing right next to me.  The little redhead seemed
fascinated by my cock and the leftover drop of urine hanging from the piss
slit; then he stared down into the bowl at the foamy golden contents of my
bladder.

   "Wanna see something cool?" I asked, shaking my dick to fling that last
drop of piss into the toilet.

   Parker nodded.

   "Okay, but you've got to promise not to tell your mom, okay?  'Cause
I'll get in trouble."

   "Okay.  I won't tell," Parker said.  "Whatcha gonna do?"

   "You'll see.  But first, here," I said, sticking my palm under his chin.
"Spit in my hand."

   "Why?"

   "Just do it."

   Without questioning me any further, the eight-year-old leaned over and
began to drool into my hand.  I was surprised by the amount of spit the boy
was able to produce at the drop of a hat; he had a very juicy mouth.

   "Now watch," I said, and I carefully brought my spit-filled palm down to
my crotch, grabbed my dick, and began to stroke it.  As my fingers moved
back and forth over my lengthening rod, it made a sticky, squelching sound.
Parker seemed to be delighted by what I was doing, for his blue eyes were
stretched wide open as he watched me.

   "Wow!  Your penis is getting so BIG!" he said.

   "Yeah," I said, "and after a while it's gonna do something special.  But
I need your help."

   "How?"

   With my left hand, I reached into my fly and carefully pulled my balls
through the opening.

   "Wow!  Your testercals are big, too!" Parker exclaimed.

   Smiling at his butchered pronunciation, I said, "If you squeeze my
balls, it'll make my penis get harder even faster.  Wanna try that?"

   Without hesitating the boy reached over and grabbed both of my balls in
his small hand.

   "Not too hard," I said, wincing at his heavy touch.  "Gently.  Like it's
an egg that might break."

   Parker was a quick study and was soon handling my nuts like a pro,
squeezing them with just the right amount of pressure, and the added
stimulation, along with the sight of his small white hand on my big black
balls, was so much of a turn-on that I found myself quickly
double-clutching my cock.

   "Okay, Park," I groaned, "now watch." And after quickly tugging at my
dick a few times more, I gasped then let out an "Nnnnnngghh!!"

   Half a second later, a stream of come shot out of my dick, surprising
the eight-year-old so much that he snatched his hand off my nuts and just
stood there with his mouth open.

   "Wow!  What IS that stuff?!" Parker asked, dumbfounded.

   I couldn't answer him because I was too busy emptying my balls not only
into the toilet but all over the bowl, the underside of the raised seat,
and the tank top.  Then I turned toward Parker, and before he could avoid
it, a glob of come landed right on top of his red head.

   "That's it," I panted, "I'm done.  So what'd you think?"

   "Wow!  That was SO cool!  But what is it?"

   "Before I tell you, will you do me a favor?"

   Without any further information about what that favor might be, Parker
nodded enthusiastically.

   "See that?" I asked, pointing to the thick white drop of semen clinging
to my piss slit.  "I want you to lick it off for me."

   With a look of uncertainty, Parker shifted his gaze back and forth a few
times from my face to my sperm-leaking dick.  Then he surprised me by
leaning forward and slipping my whole cockhead into his mouth.  Staring up
at me, he repeatedly flicked the tip of his tongue over my urethra before
pulling back and smacking his lips.

   "Shit, Parker, that was great!" I said, and the boy beamed from my
compliment.  "So how'd it taste?"

   "Sorta like snot," he said.

   "And that didn't bother you?"

   "No.  'Cause when I was little, I used to eat my own snot sometimes," he
snickered.

   Now I was the one frowning, but with a little smile buried in it, so
Parker would know that I wasn't serious.

   "Well," I said, "that's okay.  Because I've done ever nastier things
than that.  As a matter of fact, I still do, and I'd like to do some of
those things with you.  Would you like that?"

   "Yeah," he said, "but you still didn't tell me what that stuff was."

   "Oh--it's called 'sperm' or sometimes just 'come,' and when you get a
little older, whenever you think about doing nasty things with a boy or a
girl and pull on your hard dick for a while, that same stuff'll shoot out
of yours too."

   Parker's eyes lit up.  "It will?"

   "Yeah, absolutely," I assured him.  "But right now, I want you to do
something else for me."

   "What?"

   "Well...you think YOU might have to pee anytime soon?"

   Looking quizzically at me the boy said, "Yeah.  I was gonna go as soon
as you left."

   "Well, instead of waiting, I want you to go now...but I want you to do
it in a special place."

   "Where?"

   Smiling at him, I proceeded to open my mouth and point inside it.

   The eight-year-old gasped, his mouth and eyes stretched open to the max
as he stared at me.  Then his expression changed as though, on second
thought, he wasn't quite sure what my gesture meant.

   "You mean, you want me to PEE in your MOUTH?"

   "Right," I said, nodding.  "You think you can do that for me?"

   "I don't know," he said.  "I think it might be too hard for me to go,
right now."

   For a moment I was confused because he seemed to be contradicting
himself.  Then I realized that I was misinterpreting "hard" as "difficult"
and that Parker meant "hard" LITERALLY--that he had a boner and didn't
think he could piss out of it.  That's when I smiled.

   "Well, I'm gonna help you out with that, little man," I said, stroking
his hair while simultaneously massaging that blob of come into his scalp.
"But first I wanna see something.  Lift up your arms."

   Parker followed my instructions and didn't seem surprised when I began
to take his tee shirt off, struggling a little to pull it over his head. 
When I finally got it off, I took some time to admire the boy's bare torso.
Other than a sprinkling of freckles on his shoulders, it was milky white,
which made the two tiny pink nipples on his chest stand out boldly.  He was
a bit skinny, but this didn't bother me at all as I squatted in front of
him and began to caress his smooth, tight skin.  The boy was a little tense
as I did this, but I managed to relax him when, after asking him to raise
his arms again, I stuck my nose in each of his hairless armpits and began
to quick-sniff them as if I were a dog, relishing their sweaty aroma as the
eight-year-old giggled away, saying how it tickled.

   Moving along, I turned my attention to Parker's lower half, unbuttoning
and unzipping his corduroys and pulling them down to his ankles.  Again I
took a few moments to just gaze at him standing there, looking so cute in
his "tighty-whiteys." Finally, after taking a deep breath, I grasped the
elastic band of his briefs, pulling them away from his waist, and began to
inch them down, taking special care not to catch his penis as I lowered
them off his hips and down his thighs.

   With Parker's pants and underwear both bunched up atop his slippers, I
sat back and drank in his nakedness from top to bottom, ultimately focusing
on his genitals.  His prick, which pointed at me from his hairless crotch
like a pale middle finger, was about three inches long, topped off by a
small red helmet, and at its base was a tight red walnut-sized pouch.

   "Wow, that's nice," I said.  "Now let me see your butt."

   With a sheepish smile, the boy shuffled around, trying not to trip over
his pants and drawers as he turned.  Once he was facing away from me, he
bent over, holding his knees for support, giving me a nice full view of his
little white ass.

   "Wow," I said again, as I examined the boy's butt, running my fingers
over its flawless surface.  "That's nice too.  Can you bend over a little
more?"

   When he did, I got my first glimpse of his asshole, and I couldn't
resist spreading it open to get a look inside.  As soon as I did, my heart
began to beat faster than ever because I could both see and smell the
residue of Parker's last bowel movement, which had apparently not been that
long ago.

   "So tell me, Park," I said, trying my best to stay cool as I covertly
sniffed at the tiny brown smears in his anus.  "When was the last time you
did number two?"

   "Today, after I got home from school," he hesitantly replied.  "Why?"

   "Oh, I don't know.  I just wanted to know if I could--" but instead of
finishing my sentence I just leaned in and stuck my tongue up the boy's
ass.

   "Ooh!" he gasped, so startled that he stumbled forward; but my hold on
his ass let me move with him, preventing him from falling and allowing me
to keep my tongue buried in his anus.

   "Mmmmmm!  Mmmmmmm!" I moaned, as I began to lick away the remnants of
the little redhead's shit; and while the boy remained dead silent as I
slurped his shithole, I could tell by his labored breathing and the way he
pressed his ass against my face that he was indeed deriving pleasure from
the booty lick.

   Just as I was finishing up on Parker, he was apparently feeling very
relaxed, because the moment I pulled my tongue out of him, he farted right
in my face, snickering as his gas sputtered straight into my nostrils. 
Even though it smelled like rotten eggs, I still found myself sniffing it
up, actually admiring the fact that such a cute little boy was able to
produce such a hideously reeking fart.  After I was done smelling it, I
stuck my tongue right back in his asshole, almost as if I were trying to
lick out the rest of that awful scent.  When I finally pulled my tongue out
of him, the eight-year-old immediately turned around to face me again.

   "So how'd you like it when I farted in your face, Damon?" he asked,
still laughing.

   "Whew!" I said, frowning and fanning the air.  "That was one of those
killer farts.  I have to admit, though, you got me good." I then looked at
Parker's erection again and saw that it was even harder than before,
pointing further skyward.  "But we still have to take care of this little
fellow here, so you can give me what I asked for," I said, and pursing my
lips, I reached behind Parker, clutched his ass cheeks and pulled him
forward, allowing his entire prick to slip right into my mouth.

   "Ooh!" the boy again gasped, and he instinctively reached out and
grabbed my head.

   I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the heady odor of the
youngster's sweaty pubic area, and began to wash his cocklet with my
tongue, causing him to moan.  Whenever I hit a certain spot near the knob,
his whole body would flinch and he would utter a sharp gasp.

   After a while I loosened my grip on Parker's ass just to see if he would
do something else instinctively.  Sure enough the eight-year-old began to
buck his hips, fucking his weiner in and out of my mouth and bouncing his
balls off my chin.  As he went at me I could feel his glutes flexing in my
hands and hear him breathing a little more heavily with every stroke.

   A few minutes later, Parker's whole body suddenly jerked and, grabbing
my hair with both hands, he plunged his pecker all the way in my mouth and
lay trembling against my face.  At the same time, I edged one of my fingers
off his ass and poked it about an inch deep into his anus.

   "Aah, Aah, Aah!" the little redhead moaned, and I could feel his asshole
contracting around my finger while his stiffy throbbed between my lips. 
Unfortunately nothing spurted into my mouth, but I wasn't all that
disappointed, because by then my finger had sunk all the way into his poop
chute, and I was thoroughly enjoying the incredible heat and tightness of
him back there as I continued to suck him.

   As the tension drained out of Parker's body and his sexual urges died
down, I wondered what his post-climax reaction would be.  I hoped it wasn't
a feeling of guilt or embarrassment because the last thing I wanted was for
him to pull away from me and try to put his clothes back on.  So you can
imagine how delighted I was when the boy stayed right where he was and
began not only to play with my hair (whose kinky texture seemed to
fascinate him) but also deliberately clutch at my invading finger with his
sphincter as his penis rapidly shrank in my mouth.  After I responded by
wiggling that finger in his butt, which made him giggle, I slowly withdrew
it while easing my lips off his weiner.  When we were disconnected, I
sniffed my shit-stained finger then looked up at the little redhead and
smiled.

   "That was really nice, Park.  You did a good job.  So...think you can go
for me now?"

   Still holding on to my head, he nodded.

   "Good.  I'm just gonna hold the tip between my lips, and whenever you
feel it coming, just let it flow, okay?"

   Again he nodded.

   Carefully retrieving the boy's softening weiner with my mouth, I held it
snugly between my lips, cupped his ass again, closed my eyes, and waited.
For nearly a minute there was nothing, and I began to think that he had
either lost the urge to go or had confused it with the urge to come and
never really needed to go in the first place.  But then I felt something
warm squirt on my tongue.  This was followed by another squirt and then a
warm trickle, which quickly increased to a gentle flow.  In no time I found
myself swallowing a steady stream of boy-piss.

   "Mmmmmmmmmm!" I hummed, savoring the taste of Parker's pee.  A part of
me wondered what the eight-year-old was thinking as he stood there pissing
in my mouth.  He certainly understood that what we were doing was something
people didn't normally do with each other.  I was pretty sure that whatever
he'd heard about sex didn't include one person going to the bathroom in
another person's mouth.  On the other hand, maybe he was thinking that one
of the special ways young black men played with little white boys was by
drinking their piss.  Whatever was going on in Parker's head, I sensed that
he wasn't judging me and that, like most little boys I'd encountered, he
was curious and excited about doing such a naughty grown-up thing with such
a naughty grown-up.

   In less than a minute, the delivery of Parker's urine from his bladder
to my stomach was completed, as I drank the last drops of pee that dribbled
into my mouth.  Afterwards, with the boy's penis still between my lips, I
burped, and the third-grader shuddered and giggled from the burst of hot
breath on his dink.

   When I released Parker and looked up at him, I was met by an expression
that reflected both satisfaction and confusion.  To reassure him, I smiled,
winked and whispered, "It's okay, little man; we're just having a little
fun, right?"

   Forcing a smile, he nodded.  I responded by winking at him again then
gingerly taking the his now-limp noodle between my thumb and forefinger and
giving it a kiss right on the piss-wet tip.  Then I helped the little
redhead put his tee shirt back on and pulled up his underwear and pants,
making sure the latter were securely zipped and buttoned.  After that I
tore off a wad of toilet paper, wiped my drying semen off all the surfaces
it had managed to find its way onto when I'd jacked off, and tossed the
paper into the toilet bowl, which was still filled with my piss.  I nodded
to Parker and he pressed the lever.  After we both watched everything go
swirling down, we walked back into the living room.

   "I hate to leave, Park, but I still have a bunch of packages to
deliver."

   Parker poked his lip out.  "But I wanna play nasty some more," he
whined. "I like doing that."

   Again I smiled at him.  "Tell you what.  I'll come back tomorrow, and
we'll play some new nasty games then, okay?"

   "You PROMISE?"

   "Yes, I promise.  But only if YOU promise to do ME one more big favor."

   "What?"

   Stooping down in front of him, I looked him straight in the eye and
said, "When you get home from school tomorrow, try to hold off doing number
two until I get here, okay?"

   Parker was no dummy.  It only took him about half a second to put two
and two together, and I watched as his mouth and eyes stretched open and
this look of absolute incredulity came over his face.  Then, just as
quickly, his expression morphed into a frown, his face squinching up as if
he could both picture and smell what I was suggesting.

   "You mean, you're gonna...you're gonna...like..."

   "Listen, right now I've gotta go," I said, smiling at his shock and
disgust as I stood up, "but I'll give you all the details when I see you
tomorrow, okay?  Thanks."

   Kissing the still stunned boy on the forehead, I unlocked front door and
slipped out, closing it behind me and waiting to make sure I heard him
relock it before making my way to the elevator.

   Yes, sir, I said to myself as I started up the UPS truck and took off to
make my next delivery, this changing face of Harlem might not be such a bad
thing after all.
   Send comments to: Coproman69@hotmail.com